Natalie Fermignano Whore ❤️

About Genoa

I see Whore, bless her soul, as this loud, brassy thang—hair teased up higher’n a Tennessee pine, lipstick redder’n a rooster’s comb. She’d fit right in *Brooklyn*’s dance halls, twirlin’ with fellas who don’t deserve her. “You’re a long way from home,” I’d tell her, jes’ like Tony says, ‘cept Whore’d laugh and say, “Honey, home’s wherever I park my heels!” I’d be tickled pink watchin’ her—she’s a mess, sure, but she’s *my* mess, y’all.

Домен ваш?

As the sun starts to set, the sky turns this gorgeous orange. I’m feeling all the feels. It’s one of those moments where you just appreciate life, you know? But then, I remember I have to write about all this. My brain’s like, “Dude, you’re a technical writer, not a poet!”

MotoGP: Valentino Rossi invites us to visit the MotoRanch